


Fat Men

by Fatlockandfeeding



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fatlock, M/M, Weight Gain, fat appreciation, fat character(s), fat!greg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-16 01:20:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2250543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fatlockandfeeding/pseuds/Fatlockandfeeding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fic request: Lestrade gaining weight to attract Mycroft's attention. Mycroft is blind to what Greg is doing, till he bumps into him whilst making a visit to his brother. He's in complete shock at how fat the D.I is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fat Men

Greg watched mournfully as Mycroft Holmes streaked away from the crime scene in his shiny black car, and sighed, scratching at the nicotine patch on his left arm. Then he heard a snort coming from behind him.   
  
“Barking up the wrong tree, Lestrade.”

Greg frowned and turned around to find Sherlock looking at him with an amused smirk.

“Sorry, what?”

“You’re barking up the wrong tree,” Sherlock repeated, “you’re just simply not my brother’s type.”

Greg sighed. “Yeah  _thanks_ , Sherlock, but I’ve already figured out that I’m not exactly good enough for the British government, alright?”  
  
Sherlock chuckled. “No, it’s not that.”

Greg blinked. “Well what then?”

“Fat men.”

Greg frowned. “Um…what?”

“My brother,” Sherlock said slowly, as though he was having to explain something to a particularly small and stupid child, “likes fat men. He doesn’t date anyone even close to your size. Hasn’t since uni.” And with that Sherlock was off with a flounce, his coat swirling behind him.   
  
Hmm, Greg thought. Hmmm.

 

A month later when he saw Sherlock again he had packed on ten pounds, and was sporting the smallest of potbellies. Sherlock rolled his eyes when he saw it and huffed.

“You know that wasn’t an  _instruction_ , Lestrade. It’s pathetic really, changing yourself for someone you barely know.”  
  
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Greg responded, taking another bite of a donut.

Sherlock looked at him for a few moments and then sighed again. “You’ll have to speed up the gain a bit, if you can,” he said finally, “you’ll need to gain at least four more stone to pique my brother’s interest.”   
  
Greg swallowed, and then picked up another donut.

 

After that everything spiralled very quickly. Greg set himself a goal of drinking a two litre Cocacola every day, and he started drinking his morning latte with heavy cream instead of milk. The baristas at starbucks thought he was crazy. He ate three huge meals every day, and snacked constantly in between them, only pausing if his indigestion got too bad. The people around him noticed, of course, noticed the way his shirts started to strain across a growing gut, which is where most of his weight settled at first. However, after the first two stone the weight started to spread other places, and Greg suddenly found himself with very jiggly thighs and a plush arse. He even ripped his trousers at the seat one day at work, because he’d sat down too quickly.

He’d had to escape to the bathroom after that to wank off quickly.   
  
Greg was finding that he liked being fat, and getting fatter. When he was at home he would get naked and squish his new fat in his hands, gasping and writhing and imagining that his hands were Mycroft’s. Gradually even his face filled out and Greg would pinch at his double chin whenever he was alone, and moan at the thought of how much he had let himself go, and how much of a fat pig he’d become.

Finally, six months later, he ran into Mycroft Holmes again in Sherlock’s flat. Greg hadn’t put on four stone. He’d put on five and a half, and it showed. He had a hanging gut, and a fat arse, and going up the stairs of 221b made him winded. He didn’t even see Mycroft at first, he just sat with a grunt to catch his breath and spread his legs a little so that his belly could slide between them. Then he looked up, saw Mycroft, and blushed. “I…hi.”  
  
Sherlock wrinkled his nose and excused himself to the bathroom, clearly displeased with the turn of events.

Mycroft Holmes spluttered, his eyes trailing over Greg’s fat body, and then he cleared his throat, and toyed with his umbrella. “You’re looking well, Detective Inspector…or may I call you Greg?”  
  
Greg grinned and leaned back, folding his hands over his gut. “Greg’s fine.”

Mycroft grinned back, and then walked over to the couch, deductions racing. Finally he kneeled in front of Greg and grabbed the underside of the man’s paunch, squeezing roughly. Greg gasped and felt his cock spring to attention.   
  
“Oh…” Mycroft smirked. “Greg, Greg, Greg. What a nice present you’ve made for me…” He stood up then, and handed Greg a card. “Dinner at my place tonight. 8 o’ clock. Bring your appetite.”  
  
Greg slipped the card in his pocket and nodded. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

Mycroft grinned. “Evidentally not. Until tonight.”  
  
Greg felt a flutter in his belly. “Tonight.”

 


End file.
